


Not This Time

by robertstanion



Series: Hatchetober [2]
Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: F/M, Hatchetober day 2: Universe, Other, Paulkins rights, The Apotheosis - Freeform, bitches im going back to my paulkins roots, hatchetfield said fuck clivesdale rights, implied autistic paul matthews, paul matthews is a massive simp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertstanion/pseuds/robertstanion
Summary: You’d have thought that Paul Matthews would be the most mundane person in history and you’d have also thought that Emma Perkins was a fiery girl not to be messed with and that they both were definitely not compatible with each other.But then they fell in love, and with love comes death.
Relationships: Becky Barnes/Tom Houston (background), Charlotte/Sam (background), Jane Perkins/Tom Houston (background), Linda Monroe/Gerald (mentioned), Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Hatchetober [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Not This Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Hatchetober Day 2, prompt being Universe !! must admit, i looked at this earlier and went ... what the fuck am i supposed to do with this, but anyways, have my paulkins rights popping off again.

You’d have thought that, for someone who wore blazers and a tie every day, that Paul Matthews would be the most mundane person in history. You’d have also thought that for someone who spat in coffee and sang sarcastically in payers faces to get a better tip that Emma Perkins was a fiery girl not to be messed with. In some ways, Paul Matthews _was_ the most mundane person in the world, and Emma Perkins certainly was _not_ to be messed with, but when you are one colour of a thread in the universe that ties together, and the almighty Webby perches upon you allowing her to do whatever she wants, then somehow, fire and water combined and changed each other.

It had started on the 23rd November 2017, with Emma curled up in her shitty apartment in Guatamala that made her happier than anything. It was small, but affordable, and it was easy to go home to after a long day of backpacking. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to go out as much as she’d wanted to recently due to a mysterious pain that came whenever she put pressure on her right leg. She stuck to resting it, and she was happy that way. In Guatamala, nobody knew about the “fuck up” of Emma Perkins from high school, who’d always lived in Jane’s shoulder. No, they didn’t know her like that. They knew her as the girl with a smile on her face who stopped to pet any stray she approached, who also scared the Coatimundis from the local trash cans with a single glare. _That_ was the Emma Perkins people grew to love in Guatamala, for there was nobody else they knew like her.

It all changed with a phone call. She’d been curled up on the couch as her phone began to ring. Not many people had her number to begin with, which meant she often lived a life of silence, which benefited her in many more ways than one, and left her living in peace. This number, however, it was unfamiliar to her, but the location read _Hatchetfield, Michigan._ With nerves creeping up her spine, she swallowed her fears and answered the phone.

“Hello, this is Emma Perkins speaking, may I help you?” She asked, and though she tried to hide it, she was unable to make the nervousness that appeared almost instantly.

“Yeah, uh, this is Tom Houston?”

Emma’s heart dropped when she heard the name, and she shifted uneasily in her chair. Tom was Jane’s beloved husband. Emma hadn’t ever met Tom before, and thank God she hadn’t. She’d seen him around school at Hatchetfield High, and usually had his arm hooked around the waist of some girl with red hair named Becky Barnes. He was the quarterback, and from all the cliché TV shows she’d watched growing up, she half expected him to be an asshole…but he wasn’t. Whenever she passed him in corridors, he had a kind smile on his face, and he always laughed. He’d jokingly punch his friends’ arms, and sure, there was the occasional fight, but he always did it on Becky’s behalf.

Emma didn’t know why she hated him so much. Maybe it was because he was now related to Jane, and that Jane, who’d stuck to her _fucking_ Lisa Frank binder for so many years found love before she did, even though she was the younger sister and hadn’t wanted a family. Purely, it was jealousy, but she couldn’t focus on that now, especially with her sister’s husband on the line, but what could she say to a man she’d never spoken to?

“Listen. Jane’s dead,” came a reply on the other line, and Emma froze. Without thinking, she laughed.

“Oh, that’s a good one, Tom. What is this? Another plan to get me to go back to Hatchetfield? Anyway, you shouldn’t joke about death, man, it isn’t cool-“

“Do you hear me laughing?”

Silence followed as Emma’s grin dropped and her laugh faded into nothingness. “What?” She asked, her voice suddenly quieter.

“There was a crash on the intersection between Hatchetfield High and Sycamore. It was between us and another vehicle…only two of us made it out, and it wasn’t Jane.”

“You’re lying,” Emma said defensively as she tensed up. No. Not Jane being dead at only 40. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be, it didn’t make sense for “Perfect Perkins” to be dead. She’d always joked about it, Jane had, always saying she’d “die shielding children from fire,” or something similar. A car crash shouldn’t have claimed her soul.

Tom moved around her response, beginning his sentence with a heavy sigh. “The funeral is in three days. If you have the heart to show up to your own sister’s funeral, then I’ll see you then. After all, it’s your call.”

The phone went dead after that. Emma, with a shaking hand, gripped her phone tighter as her whole body began to shake. All at once, whatever tough exterior she had previously, and whatever warmth she kept locked inside her that burned out with the smiles she wore every day to greet neighbours, vanished. She let out a screaming sob as she dropped her phone on to the couch as her entire body trembled, being racked by harsh cries. When her parents had died, she’d locked it away and gone on with her life as normal, but with Jane? This was different.

This was a part of her life gone forever. Even if she’d been extremely jealous of her older sister, for being the prettier, smarter sibling, it didn’t mean they hadn’t been able to have some sort of connection. Even if it was weak, it was there, and it was indefinite sisterly love.

She ended up going to the funeral. She went to the funeral, and she stood off to the side, watching the mournful people sobbing as Jane’s casket was lowered. She didn’t cry a single tear, keeping her arms crossed across her chest. Things were changing from there on out, and it didn’t matter if she could prevent them. Her own nephew was 8 years old, and it wasn’t like she could walk up to Tom and ask to be in Tim’s life now, was it? She’d been absent for so long, and now it was too late. There wouldn’t be another phone call asking to come to the events. There wouldn’t be any more Jane.

It was the reason she stayed in Hatchetfield.

She got a job as a barista in the smaller, shittier coffee store named “Beanies,” which didn’t pay well. She depended on the tips of customers to make somewhat of a wage, as the customers tended to want to go to Starbucks more than this piece of shit that she worked at. She did, however, end up making enough to rent out a small apartment, and it ‘s where she managed to find comfort in. It wasn’t Guatamala, but it was enough.

She also signed up to the community college in Hatchetfield, enrolling to study in botany. Choosing the courses, she’d gone through each one and thought to herself, “ _which one would make Jane so immensely proud of me, but when I use that for something else, would make her so incredibly pissed?”_ She chose Biology as a whole, under Professor Henry Hidgens, a lonely silver haired man who was far too thin for his own good, and many whispers claimed him as “kooky,” “reclusive,” and “crazy,” though Emma recognised the signs of grief better than anyone in that class. She payed attention and revised, mainly staying up all night to get good grades to achieve her dream. She’d want to make Jane proud, even from beyond the grave, so using whatever skills she got from this course to grow a pot farm and make a living off of that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Weed was going to be nation-wide soon, and it’s what she insisted on whenever she was asked, but nobody listened.

But she was back in Hatchetfield. There were sneers and glares at her from behind her back, or when she passed on the street. The word was out. Emma Perkins had returned to Hatchetfield . Some spat at her, because now, when her sister died, did she have the audacity to finally show her face. Some sighed pitifully as they recognised her in Beanies as she handed them their drink, and they’d offer a sympathetic smile she never accepted. Some didn’t know who she was, and she preferred those people. There was no Emma Perkins from Guatamala anymore. It was back to greys and greens of envy and distress, because that’s what Hatchetfield does to people. It strips them of achievements and true personalities, and ensured they stayed in the cycle that was “eat, sleep, repeat,” until they died. Many struggled to find love on the island, and if they did, it was gossip.

The island was small, and it was a community. With an advance in technology, Emma was surprised there wasn’t a “Hatchetfield group chat,” but she was also insanely thankful that there wasn’t one, and hopefully, would never _be_ one either. Yeah, on the island there _was_ a mall, and there _was_ a Starbucks, and there _was_ a hospital, but how else was the tiny town off of the coast of Michigan supposed to make an income? They didn’t want to lose to Clivesdale of all places, so they fought back yearly, and Emma still felt that wave of satisfaction when the stats came out and they earned more than that one town had earned in a year.

There were two things the island had in common, and that was it’s love for gossip, and its hatred for Clivesdale. If someone was having an affair, or someone was getting a divorce, or other family matters like if someone was expecting a child or getting married, _everyone_ would know about it. Whether they liked it or not, everyone on the island managed to have ties with one another, and it’s how news spread so quickly.

It became the main reason as to how Paul Matthews managed to find out Emma was back on the island.

* * *

Paul Matthews had gone to see Brigadoon when he was in high school, and there was a girl there who’d captured his eye immediately. Up until then, his friends had teased him that he’d be a virgin for life because a beanpole like him was emotionless and would never get laid in his life, and he’d feared he’d never find the love they’d found. Until that night, he didn’t know why his palms didn’t get sweaty and his heart didn’t race whenever he saw a super pretty person go by. Sure, he could admit that they were pretty, but he always liked to find the good in people. However, things changed drastically when Emma Perkins walked on stage, and his palms became sweaty, his heart sped up, and his eyes focused on her and only her. Long, curled brown hair that reached her mid back with clear, gentle tanned skin, with a voice of a true angel. Everything else stopped and he was unable to think of anything _but_ her. He got teased for it after by Ted, who nudged him and asked if “that was who he was gonna jerk off to,” but he ignored him as he always did.

Her name replayed in his mind for ages, and whenever he tried to find her, he couldn’t. It was almost like…she didn’t exist. Emma Perkins, a one performance wonder, he discovered. He listened out for the frequent rumours around town, and none included Emma, only her family. Linda Monroe’s baby being born blonde with green eyes, and neither her nor Gerald had that colour eye. Jane Perkins being pregnant with her first child just weeks after becoming married to Tom Houston. Mr and Mrs Perkins dying of “mysterious” circumstances that had yet to be confirmed, but everyone shunned them. The Perkins family were notorious for being… not the best kinds of people, but Paul thought, deep down, Emma was different.

When he heard that she was back in town, he discovered it through Charlotte, actually. She bought it up casually as they walked into Beanies, with a lot of persuasion from Melissa for Paul to try something new. It definitely switched up his routine, which he hated, but he _didn’t_ hate the glowing barista at the bar. Charlotte had smiled sweetly and cooed. “That’s Emma,” she’d said, and Paul had frozen, looking down to the sweater-wearing friend of his.

“Emma Perkins? From Brigadoon?”

“The very same,” she’d nodded as Ted piped up.

“Emma’s back?” He asked before furrowing his eyebrows, clicking his fingers. “Right. Jane just died; she probably came back for her funeral a month ago. She’ll definitely be spendin’ Christmas alone. I ain’t surprised if Tom don’t want her in his life at _all.”_ He punctuated his sentence with a direct laugh as he walked up to the counter, leaning against it, striking up a conversation with another girl with pale skin and black, wavy hair.

Paul swallowed nervously, and his eyes darted back outside of the window to the small Starbucks sign in the distance, debating with himself whether to go there. He’d only fuck things up by making things awkward, with his anxiety and all, but Charlotte gently tugged on his blazer sleeve and pulled him to the counter, where Emma sighed, tiredness weighing her down as she put on a sickeningly sweet customer-service like smile.

“Hi, welcome to Beanies, what can I get for ya?” She asked as she threw a dish cloth over her shirt, grabbing a cup.

Charlotte smiled back at Emma; a hint of sympathy mixed into it due to the length of their order. “Can I get…a caramel frap, a vanilla latte, a green tea for Melissa, a mocha for Ted and a- oh, how silly of me! I meant two caram-“

“A black coffee.” Paul butted in, and Emma glanced up to him, and he could have sworn his soul left his body on the spot. “ _Just_ a black coffee, please.”

She smiled at him, though it was semi uneasy, and turned to make the coffees. This gave Paul time to let his shoulders drop, as he reached into his pocket and fished out a ten-dollar bill. With no hesitation, he placed it in the tip jar, hoping it’d make her smile. He sure hoped it did, because she deserved to smile the most.

Beanies became a part of his routine. Every day, he’d go to Beanies, and ask for a black coffee. He never particularly _liked_ the drink, but it reminded him of the complicated orders she’d had to make on their first encounter since high school, and black coffee was quick, easy and cheap. Though it was only like a dollar, he always payed her a decent tip. One time, he placed thirty dollars in the tip jar, and she heard her gasp as he left, and she could feel the smile that came with it on the back of his neck. Whether it be an extra dollar or an extra ten, any spare change he had went to Emma, for he could tell Emma needed that little bit extra to keep her going.

From their first meeting in December, they began to talk more at the counter whenever he ordered his coffee. She finally learnt his name in late July, July 22nd to be exact. It had been a brief conversation after some guy in a trenchcoat had called her an asshole for not singing. On Paul’s behalf, he’d have killed to have heard her singing again, and he didn’t doubt her voice would be as angelic as it was back in high school, but if it was anything spontaneous like a musical, then he’d have rather died. He told her that; he told her he didn’t like musicals and then told her his name. It was pathetic of him, but it was nice. He tipped her $5.

He didn’t know, when he woke the next morning, it’d be the last $5 he’d tip her.

It started with a song in the street when he was stopped by the Greenpeace girl, and then when his boss called him into his office singing about what Paul wanted. What Paul _wanted_ was Emma, but nobody could know that. He was already mocked enough for it as it was, so he kept the majority of his problems hidden. He’d ran to Beanies and tried to convince her he wasn’t crazy, and it had failed.

Until the baristas started singing.

Then, he’d taken her hand, pulled her from the crowd, and ran to the alley, where he re-joined with his coworkers. It turned out, Charlotte rang her cop asshole husband, Sam, and when the cops turned up, Emma’s eyes rolled so far back in her head, and she uttered the longest and most frustrated groan he’d ever heard, that he found himself falling deeper for her. Until the cops started singing.

Ted managed to knock Sam out, leaving his brain exposed, and he scared the other two away. They ended up in Henry Hidgens’ place, and somewhere between the morning and when Paul returned from Hatchetfield High, he watched Bill die, watched Alice _kill_ her own father, had a lengthy discussion with a general of the united states military about why iPhones were bad and how he needed to get Emma and get off the island.

So, he got Emma, and he ran with her. They watched Ted die, but they couldn’t dwell on it for too long, for they reached the helicopter, and it should have been their happy ending, but it wasn’t. There was fear in her eyes as the helicopter came hurtling down. Paul held her the best he could, trying to prevent any major injuries she may have, but it wasn’t good enough. She did become majorly injured, and it left him to blow up the meteor alone.

He could only hope her plan was successful.

He walked into the theatre, a belt of grenades strapped across his chest, and he went to stride up to the stage. As he did, fellow colleagues and citizens of the island he’d found throughout the day appeared on stage, taunting him, and he _wanted them to stop…_ which is how he met his demise.

As he blew up the meteor, he realised one thing. Maybe in a universe, him and Emma would have been happy, and would have been curled up in front of the fire in their small land as Emma got home from the pot farm, their adopted cat curled up on the chair beside them, but it certainly wasn’t this one. He let the spores take root in his mind, for he was already too injured and weak to fight against them, and now the hivemind knew too much, but he couldn’t stop it.

They were after Emma, and he’d finally get what he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> me creating metaphors with colours again:  
> my readers: i like your funny words magic man
> 
> I LOVE PAULKINS SM WHY DO I NEVER WRITE AS THEM ANYMORE I WANT TO B O NK MYSEL F


End file.
